ethosa

His hair was chin length and straight that curled slightly at the ends. He wore a red sweater with a white argyle pattern across the midsection. He wore a thick black leather jacket that rested just at where his hips jutted out from his body. His jeans were a washed out blue, and looked to be a size too big--or maybe he was just that thin, and at the bottom of each leg was a large black boot. He had an angular face with high cheekbones, the cheeks themselves slightly hollowed. He walked with a limp in his step, which seemed more stylistic than from any injury--like he was swinging from foot to foot.

(originally written two years ago)
wordcount: 774

Everything around me seemed to melt away, like rain on a watercolor painting, all the colors slowly running down the drain. Objects, once so clear as to what they were, suddenly became blurs of color as they cascaded downward like there was no floor. My hand gripped the suitcase tighter to make sure it wasn’t melting, and neither was I. Uncle sure made great improvements on the machine during the past week, I thought it was amazing. He was so capable, and at that moment I wondered what else he could do. With me.

When the old world dropped around me from the sky’s blank face, with its familiar and comforting arms I’ve been yearning for the past week, I half expected everyone to be there when I arrived. But when I opened the door to only Uncle and Nicholas’ meager and somewhat unkempt faces I suddenly became enraged. Why wasn’t Edgar here? Did he really find someone new in only the week we’ve been apart? But, I was no better. I’d known him for only three weeks.

"Where’s Edgar?" I asked but I could barely hear my own words, I wondered if they could. I repeated myself, louder, but Uncle shrugged, Nicholas looked unsettled. The question was directed more to Uncle, but Nicholas answered:

"He’s in his room." His words were sad, like he was ashamed. Why would Nicholas be ashamed? Why would Edgar be in his room? Edgar should be here to welcome me back. He heard about my coming back and living here, right? "He’s been depressed this past week. Hardly goes to class; hasn’t eaten much for three days, already; doesn’t talk more than he needs to. It’s as if he’s gone deaf to the world. Alone with his textbooks."

All of a sudden a whole swath of emotions fell into me. I was worried if he was all right, angry he wasn’t there. I was frustrated with his, what seemed like, lack of a driving will. As if he didn’t care about anything anymore and it pissed me off.

Before either of the men in front of me could stop me I dropped my suitcase and ran. My feet, fueled by anger and disappointment, flew me to the third floor and stopped right in front of Edgar’s room. I took a few seconds of breath to calm myself before I opened the door and barged in.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed. He was reading a book and looked incredibly depressed. What had happened to him? What could have possibly made him into this mess? Even the floor was filthy with clothes and books and stationary. I was only gone for a week and this is what happened? Or was his room always like this?

He looked up from his book to my face. It didn’t feel like he was actually looking at me. His eyes had huge bags under them and the room’s lighting was poor.

I took long, angry strides to him as he dropped his book onto the hardwood floor and stood. I looked up at him with an angry face, our bodies only a foot apart. His face was unshaven and his hair was a mess, a shaggy and wild greasy blonde.

The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was about to say something. I panicked and covered his mouth with my hand. I don’t want him to say anything. I don’t want anything to be said. Words just turn to stone.

I look into his eyes and he stares into mine. I want to know why he’s been like this, why he’s been so depressed and lone-looking. I stare into his eyes almost desperately, looking for the answers in them, hoping he could hear my silent but humble questions. It’s so strange, so out of character for him.

My hand slowly moved away from his mouth and to his jawline, under his ears. My movements were tiny and gentle as if I were petting a newborn kitten. My mind paid no attention to my heart until now, when I found it beating madly for this distraught and lonesome man. What was going on? What do I want? After a week of missing this man, wanting to hold me so carefully in his arms, do I finally know what I want?

I slowly lean up to his face, closer toward his lips. A flicker of understanding went through his eyes and like a spark to a fire he quickly came to life. His face didn’t show it but his eyes did and he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me.